Tis the Season (of asshole strangers and unfortunate colds)
by CaughtInTheRa1n
Summary: A pompous businessman & a uni student with a cold find their Christmas doesn't go exactly as planned when their train runs late. Now they're stuck sitting next to each other on a station bench. Written for December, because who doesn't like cute, wintery, holiday-spirit-y Merlin and Arthur AUs? Fluff. Pairings unknown.A holiday treat. Updates thru winter. Plot bounces around a bit.
1. Chapter 1: Sneezes and Snow

**Author's Note:** _Before we begin- Obviously both Merlin and Arthur (or rather, Colin and Bradley) are from the UK, so I've written them as such (or at least I tried to. My phrasing might be off. Feel free to correct me on my butchering of British slang). HOWEVER, I'm American, living in (currently very cold) New England (far-North-eastern USA... think New York City and Boston). So, that being said, don't ask me where this story takes place. My descriptions of the weather are based on my experience living in one of the colder parts of the US, where the average December temperature is 25 degrees Fahrenheit, or -4 degrees Celsius. My particular area can drop far, far below that. I'm also aware that it does not take more than a full day to traverse the entire UK by train. But in the US, it can take multiple days._

 _So I guess we find our heroes in some kind of hybrid territory, where the weather is distinctly USA, New-England-y, and the speaking/references/settings are more UK-oriented. Where it takes more than a full day of constant travel to get from one place to another, but the characters can recognize which parts of Ireland or the UK in general the other is from solely by listening to their accents._

 _Just wanted to clear that up before someone gets confused that the climate, tone, and geography of this story don't exactly match up. I know they don't. But I figure if we can suspend our disbelief long enough to enjoy a show about a magical warlock and a talking dragon, then we are more than capable of accepting the bending of certain geological/cultural concepts._

 _Happy Holidays, everybody!_

 _(Stay tuned for additions to this story throughout the month of December!)_

 _ **Enjoy!**_

* * *

It was not Arthur's day.

Squirming in his metal chair with his ticket clutched in his hand, he glanced at his watch again.

Of _course_ the train was late.

He drummed his fingers along the edge of the seat, letting out a breath of surprise when he made contact with something soft and sticky on the underside of the chair. He pulled his hand back and wiped it on his pants, groaning.

Scratch the day. This had not been Arthur's _month._

He didn't need any more proof: Arthur was cursed, and just in time for the holidays. It hadn't been enough that his business had shipped him off to this middle-of-nowhere town for a month just as winter had started. It wasn't enough that there had been no plane tickets to get home. It wasn't even enough that he had to take a bloody _train_ halfway across the country in order to get home on Christmas Eve, or that once he _got_ home the only person there would be Morgana, because their father had decided to go on holiday somewhere warm and tropical and _not bloody freezing._ No, now the train needed to be late, and Arthur needed to sit on a busy, cold platform next to some scrawny fellow who kept sneezing into his gloves and moaning to himself.

He shivered and checked the time again. Nearly four-thirty in the afternoon, and the train was supposed to arrive at four-fifteen. Arthur groaned. At this rate he could just walk to his house. It would be an interesting way to spend a Christmas eve, no doubt. But then Morgana would worry about him, and despite her prickly exterior, he didn't particularly feel like dealing with a worried Morgana when he got back. _If_ he got back. He sighed and leaned back into his chair.

The man next to him sneezed again.

Arthur rolled his eyes and turned further away from him in his seat. No. This was certainly not Arthur's day.

* * *

It was _not_ Merlin's day.

The only upside to anything was that Christmas Eve was tomorrow, and that it was going to be a white one. But then he sneezed into his hands and moaned.

On second thought, maybe the snow wasn't all that great.

And maybe the sneezing would be bearable if the train wasn't now twenty-five minutes late, and maybe even _that_ would be bearable if the man sitting next to him would just stop checking his watch every five minutes and fidgeting. They were all on the same bloody platform, they were all freezing, and they were all waiting for the same late train. He didn't have to keep checking the time. The train would come when the train came. That was that.

He sneezed again. His cold had been getting worse all week, and Merlin took a moment to lament the fact that he hadn't packed any full gloves, just some patchy fingerless ones. His mum was going to have a fit when he got home tomorrow, if he even ended up getting home by tomorrow. He wasn't looking forward to spending two nights on a train, even if he had paid for the cross-country ticket and sleeping car.

He shivered and looked down the tracks. There was no train in sight, and the large clock on the platform glowed a blazing four-forty-five. Merlin glanced down at his lap, then at his very-cold fingertips, and groaned again. And to think he'd thought he would be able to get a little shopping done tomorrow before his mum's Christmas party… He hoped Will and Freya didn't get to his mum's before he did. Sure, she loved them both, Will in particular, but Merlin really preferred to be _present_ when his friends were at the house, even if he was present-less.

He glanced down the track.

Nope. This was not even his week.

* * *

At five, Arthur had had enough. Couldn't the company have at least _informed_ its customers that the train wasn't going to show up? As it was, more than half of the people on the platform had already left, off to find more reliable ways to their destinations, he supposed. Did the train operators simply assume everybody lived close to their loved ones? Was it too much of a stretch to believe that _some_ people had to make it halfway across the country in order to see their families on Christmas? He ran his hand through his hair and looked at the platform. There were a few people with bags, some men with long-cold coffees and scarves. A few children napped on the benches with their parents hovering above them.

And then there was the scrawny fellow right next to Arthur, who had stubbornly stayed where he was despite the fact that there was now _plenty_ of space on the platform for him to sit and not sneeze on people. Really, the amount of sniffling that had been going on for the last forty-five minutes was downright obnoxious. He sounded like a pathetic child. Not that Arthur could really tell how old he was at all- there was a dark knit cap pulled over his hair and an obnoxiously red scarf wound around his neck, and he seemed to be trying to burrow into his thin brown jacket. He could have been anywhere from eighteen to thirty. He was scrawny enough and tall enough for anything in-between, and sick enough for everyone on the platform put together. He should have really stopped waiting ages ago; he was only going to make himself sicker. Even as he thought it, the man shivered and sneezed again, and Arthur turned away.

* * *

Merlin's teeth wouldn't stop chattering. He should have packed a warmer jacket, but he didn't really own one, just a grand amount of hoodies and blankets, which were either on his body or in his bag, shoved under the seat. It was honestly bordering on inconsiderate now, that nobody had come out to tell them the train wasn't coming.

But then again, maybe they should have given up by now. That seemed to be what most people had done, and what Merlin would have done. But no, his landlord believed he was going home for Christmas, as was required by his university, and he knew his flat would be locked until after the New Year. So it was either sleep in the streets or wait for the train, no matter how late it was. He huddled deeper into his jacket as a wind roared through the station and sliced through his layers. He sneezed again and heard the man next to him turn away.

He knew that he probably looked pretty damn pathetic, in his cheap jacket, sneezing, but the man could move if he wanted to. Merlin was really not in the mood for dealing with rude people at a train station, especially posh men who were dressed like they'd stepped out of a millionaire magazine, with their perfect wool coats over their dress pants and shined shoes. Hell, Merlin was surprised he didn't have a briefcase with him. The beaten duffel by his right leg spoke of a man younger than his clothes, but then Merlin hadn't seen his face, sitting the way he was. Just a tuft of carefully-styled blond hair.

He looked at the tracks. It was starting to snow again.

Perfect.

* * *

An hour and a half. A whole damn _hour and a half_ went by before the intercom crackled to life above Arthur, making the man next to him jump.

 _Due to extreme weather conditions, expect delays,_ the electronic voice announced, and Arthur actually let out a short laugh.

The man next to him shifted and muttered, and Arthur could just make out his muffled words.

"Damn right, expect delays," he was saying, but he sounded slightly amused. Arthur smiled a little, as that had been precisely what he was thinking.

The snow began to come down harder.

* * *

Two hours later, and it was too dark to see anything outside of the platform. The snow had blown up from the tracks and settled on everything, a thin layer on Arthur's shoes and Merlin's battered jeans. They were both shivering at this point, both damp and freezing, and by this time nearly all of the other people had left, leaving a few sparse families huddled together on the benches.

Merlin's teeth were chattering up a storm and his fingers had gone numb, even shoved deeply into the pockets of his jacket. He'd also stopped sneezing, which he hoped was a good thing, but knew probably wasn't.

Arthur was bouncing his knee and rubbing his palms together, glancing down the tracks every five minutes or so. The visibility was extremely low, however, and he could really only see a few dozen feet in any direction. His toes were growing numb in his shoes, and even the bloke next to him had stopped sneezing, although his shivering had increased ten-fold.

Arthur vaguely wondered if it were possible that the man might simply keel over from the cold. He then wondered if he would somehow be held accountable for it. But then he shook his head and dismissed the thought. If it got _that_ cold, surely the man would go inside.

Another ten minutes passed. Merlin had hunched so low into his jacket, the scarf nearly covered his beanie-clad ears. Sighing out a breath of frosty air, he felt it condense against the material over his mouth before freezing again. He debated pulling his bag out from under his seat and looking for another set of clothes, but was worried his numb fingers might betray him. Besides, he'd survived this long already-there was no need to open up his carefully packed bag. His mom would call him silly for not thinking of opening it sooner, but Merlin thought maybe he could blame the cold on his slow thinking.

Six-thirty. The platform was officially deserted save for Arthur and the visibly-freezing man next to him, who'd huddled himself deeply enough into his scarf and hat that only his eyes were visible. Arthur kept peeking glances at him, trying to assess whether the man was _trying_ to freeze himself to death, or was just as impossibly stubborn as Arthur was. Or perhaps he had nowhere to go, just as Arthur did. Or…

An idea struck him.

Maybe the man _lived_ here.

Arthur felt a pang of something in his gut. A mixture of fear-he was alone with a sick, freezing, potentially homeless man- and worry, because this man was obviously not dressed for the weather nor healthy enough to be out in it for this long. He hated to admit it, but the cold was definitely getting to him at this point. Everything seemed far more sinister that it really ought to be. He stole another glance at the man, trying to find any indication of homelessness. Or craziness. Or kill-men-at-a-train-station potential.

It was honestly impossible to tell. The man had a fringe of tangled black hair peeking out the front of his beanie, but that could just be his look. His hands were in his pockets. His shoes were brown and old and made of faux-suede, but in relatively good condition. His jacket was brown and patched neatly at the elbows. His jeans had a hole in one knee, but were well-fitted. Everything was slightly askew, but clean. Arthur decided he wasn't homeless. Not that it changed the man's potential to kill him at all, or that he wasn't crazy. Arthur returned to his position with his back to him and rolled his eyes.

The sneezing had started up again.

* * *

Merlin's nose was running. His ears were full of cotton and his feet were full of ice and would that damn posh bloke _stop staring at him,_ please? It was making Merlin wildly more uncomfortable than he already was, being sized up like a potential predator. What was he gonna do, sneeze the guy to death? Merlin had seen the man's face now, seen the sharp jawline and the clear blue eyes. He was obviously young and in very good shape-a direct contradiction to his businessman attire. Merlin wasn't much of a threat against most guys his age on a good day, and this was definitely not one of his good days. Merlin didn't think he could even run the length of the platform without his lungs collapsing, let alone pursue anybody. He doubted he could even gather the energy to outrun an attacker.

He really, _really_ hoped the man didn't turn out to be an attacker. He didn't look like one, exactly, with his carefully-styled hair, but he did look like someone who'd turn up his nose if Merlin called for help. Which got Merlin thinking about what he'd do if someone _did_ come at him at this train station. Probably huddle into his jacket and hope they got bored. Sure, Merlin had a couple of tricks up his sleeve- But no, he'd probably opt to not call any attention to himself. Less questions that way.

Fortunately, the cold seemed to have sent everybody away, and aside from the man next to him, the platform was empty. Merlin could not believe the train had still not arrived. He considered himself a patient man, but this waiting game was enough for even him to get antsy. He'd even started bouncing his left knee at some point, and now he watched the fine dusting of snow on his jeans take off into the air. The powder swirled angrily in the wind. Merlin puffed out his cheeks and blew a cloud of mist from his lips in a dramatic sigh.

And then, as if the freezing temperatures and sickness weren't enough, Merlin's stomach let out a low growl. He groaned inwardly. Nothing was going right today.

* * *

The man's stomach was growling. _The man's stomach was growling._ Seriously? Arthur could hear it from where he was sitting, and it only served to make Arthur painfully aware that he hadn't eaten since his rushed coffee-and-muffin breakfast. Honestly, the man should have given up by now, if only to give Arthur some quiet. It was a snowy winter's night, for goodness sake, it should be dead silent!

The man next to him chuckled. Arthur turned, startled. A pair of clever blue eyes was peering at him from underneath the beanie. At the eye contact, an amused smile spread across the sneezing man's face.

"Yes, seriously," he said, out loud, to Arthur.

Well, shit. He must have spoken his thoughts out loud. He'd really gone and shoved his foot in his mouth this time, hadn't he?

The man laughed at Arthur's expression and looked back across the platform, shaking his head. "Like you're faring any better," he quipped, settling back into his seat. He had a slight accent, Arthur noted. Somewhere in Northern Ireland. It sounded like he was trying to get rid of it, but his voice still tilted up at the end, as if he was uncertain of every statement he made.

It was obvious, however, that the Irishman was not at all uncertain of himself, nor of how to handle the awkward situation Arthur had just thrust them into. Figures Arthur had to wind up next to not only the sickest person he had ever seen in public, but the one person who felt comfortable talking to complete strangers about their minor social infractions.

The only good news was that there was literally nobody else at the station to witness Arthur 's embarrassing moment.

"You'd think they'd have said something by now," the man was saying, looking down the tracks. He coughed into his glove. "I mean, just as _common courtesy._ " He gave Arthur a pointed look as he said it. Arthur felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

"Look, mate-" Arthur started, and it was unnerving, how the other man's eyes seemed to look straight through him. He faltered. "Uh-I didn't mean to-"

"...let on that you're a total prat?" He smirked again, "Guess your cover's blown."

Arthur closed his mouth. The man broke into another sneezing fit as Arthur watched.

"You should really get inside," Arthur pointed out. "This weather can't be good for…" he motioned vaguely to the man, "...all of that."

The man finished sneezing. "Gee, thanks, I hadn't thought of that." He wiped his nose on his sleeve. Arthur cringed.

"I'm just saying…"

"Yeah, I know what you're saying. Now kindly shut up about it." He crossed his arms and turned back towards the tracks, signalling he was done with the conversation. Arthur got the hint, mimicking the man's motion and staring into the grey abyss before them.

* * *

Merlin knew some higher being was laughing at him the moment his stomach growled loudly enough for the other man to hear. What he wasn't expecting, however, was the posh git to roll his eyes and mutter, "seriously?"

Despite the obvious lack of manners, Merlin had to laugh. "Yes, seriously," he said, because even though he was absolutely miserable, he had to admit that the man's reaction was unexpected. He laughed again when the man's face went from frustrated to horrified that he'd heard.

"Like you're faring any better," he continued. They both knew that wasn't necessarily true, but honestly, who did this man think he was? Did he not expect to get called out? Merlin was not one to sit and listen to the whines of spoiled men. For some strange reason, he seemed to attract pompous jerks wherever he went- high school, university, the supermarket, his workplace… He'd once been cornered at a bookstore by a prissy academic, attempting to insult Merlin's choice in cheap detective novel. ("That rubbish is _serial,"_ the man had sniffed, "if you must read mystery, at _least_ read Sir Doyle.") And although he knew that keeping his mouth shut kept him out of trouble, he also knew that it was so much less _satisfying._ And right now, sneezing and shivering and hungry, Merlin decided he was going to at least have _this,_ if nothing else.

He cleared his throat. In his peripherals, the man next to him seemed to stiffen. Merlin relished his discomfort. "You'd think they'd have said something by now. I mean, just as _common courtesy."_ He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his expression neutral. For such a well-polished man, his face turned _so red._

Still flushed, the blond began to stammer out apologies, his facade crumbling. Merlin smirked, sending jibes straight back. He'd nearly forgotten about the entire train-and-snow situation when his cold came roaring to the forefront, and by the time his ears stopped ringing with the latest coughing fit, the blond had recovered from his embarrassment enough to remark that Merlin should get inside, because the weather wasn't good for him. As if Merlin wouldn't _love_ to be inside right now.

And now they were right back where they'd started, staring into the swirling white wall that only hours before had been a set of clearly-defined tracks.

Merlin was sure he was going to die of… something. He couldn't decide which factor would win first. He was thinking boredom, but perhaps the same could be said for hunger. He looked longingly behind him, where he knew there was a road, and a little ways down from that, a shop. He'd grabbed a pastry from there earlier that day, and some tea, and he would give everything to huddle at one of their cherrywood booths and have another of each. It was probably still open- it wasn't yet seven- and a growing part of him wanted to give up on the train arriving entirely and simply spend the night dozing at the coffeeshop.

* * *

Arthur was doing his darndest to ignore the growing knot of his hunger in his own belly. If it started growling now, he'd never live it down, he could just tell. The man wouldn't let something like that go. But _gods,_ he was hungry. And not only that, but he was getting worried that his duffel bag wouldn't last much longer in these elements. He had gifts for Morgana and Gwen in there, and his father, and some of his mates-Leon and Elyan, in particular- and most of them were unwrapped and not particularly waterproof.

The intercom above his head spluttered to life again, letting out a series of long beeps before a different voice came through, just as robotic as the first:

 _Due to extreme weather conditions, the four-fifteen train has been scheduled to arrive at seven-forty-five. We are sorry for the inconvenience._

The dark-haired man snorted into his scarf. "Perfect!" He exclaimed, standing up. He unfolded his long, skinny legs from under his seat and grabbed his bag, slinging one strap over his shoulder. Arthur was startled by how tall he was- he must have been doing some kind of contortionist act to fit his legs beneath the chair. The man yanked the scarf down from his face.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I am going to the shop down the street for a pastry and something warm to drink. Would you fancy it?" He adjusted his bag and pulled the scarf back up.

"Merrlnn," he said, his voice muffled, and Arthur stared at him.

" _What?"_ Arthur was trying to figure out where the character change had come from. The man rolled his eyes and pulled his scarf down again.

" _Merlin,"_ he repeated. He stuck his hand out. Arthur hesitantly stood to shake it.

"Uh, Arthur."

The man shoved his hands back into his pockets. He was wearing a pair of fingerless gloves, and his fingertips were an icy pink-blue. Jesus, this man was _really_ not equipped to handle the weather. Arthur looked back at the tracks again, hoping perhaps the train would magically appear anyway. When he looked back, the man -Merlin- was already halfway down the platform.

"Well? You coming?" He called over his shoulder, and Arthur, bewildered, grabbed his own bag and rushed to follow.

* * *

 _More updates to come._


	2. Chapter 2: Coughs and Coffee

**Hey ya'll! Happy New Year!**

 **What would you like to see in this fic? Give me ideas! I want to hear from you! Are there any silly tropes you'd like to see? Any cute romantic-y bits? No romance at all? Any intense drama you'd like, or heartbreaking moments? Strange settings or situations or characters? I'm going to be posting the next few chapters in short installments, so I can incorporate whatever you (and I) like!**

 **Enjoy, and please prompt me!**

 **~Rain**

* * *

 **Previously...**

"Merrlnn," he said, his voice muffled, and Arthur stared at him.

"What?" Arthur was trying to figure out where the character change had come from. The man rolled his eyes and pulled his scarf down again.

"Merlin," he repeated. He stuck his hand out. Arthur hesitantly stood to shake it.

"Uh, Arthur."

The man shoved his hands back into his pockets. He was wearing a pair of fingerless gloves, and his fingertips were an icy pink-blue. Jesus, this man was really not equipped to handle the weather. Arthur looked back at the tracks again, hoping perhaps the train would magically appear anyway. When he looked back, the man -Merlin- was already halfway down the platform.

"Well? You coming?" He called over his shoulder, and Arthur, bewildered, grabbed his own bag and rushed to follow.

* * *

 **December 23rd, 2014. 6:55pm.**

"I'm serious, I've never once gotten a caffeine headache!"

"But you're a uni student, Merlin! That's absolutely impossible. How do you get to your 8am's?"

"Don't have any."

"You're kidding. How'd you swing that?"

Merlin shrugged. "Just lucky, I guess," he said, before a mischievous grin spread across his face. "Or, you know, I might've called in a couple of favors from the techies."

Arthur leaned back. "Oh, I see. So you're a cheater."

Merlin took a big gulp from his mug. "I'd never! They owed me."

Arthur crossed his arms and shook his head. "I'm sure."

The coffeeshop was empty. A barista was wiping down the spotless counter at the front, staring into space. Merlin's bangs were dripping melted snow onto the booth table and into his steaming mug of espresso. (He'd gotten three shots of it. Arthur was waiting for him to have a heart attack.)

Merlin shrugged. "Some of us don't need to cheat to get what we want," his eyes rested on Arthur. " _Some_ of us are pleasant people who get favors in return for our good humor."

Arthur bit his cheek. "Yes, well. Some of us have enough common sense to not sneeze on people."

"I never sneezed on you."

"You came close enough."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "I could have left you on that platform, you know."

Arthur swirled the contents of his own mug before taking a sip. He watched through his lashes as Merlin pulled his beanie off and shook his hair like a dog, flinging water in every direction. He ran his long fingers through the messy black strands that fell over his eyes, apparently trying to tame it. It didn't work. Arthur snorted into his cup. Merlin glared at him.

"What?" He lowered his hand, mussing his hair further. He looked a bit less like a sick homeless man now, and definitely more like a twenty-something student who probably studied studio art or poetry or something of the like. He'd told Arthur he was studying English and computer science, but the scruffy clothes and fingerless gloves were _so_ drama-and-arts student. Plus, who studied English and computer science together?

"You're staring," Merlin pointed out, taking a tiny sip of his espresso. "Rude git."

Arthur felt his face turn red, then immediately wondered why. They'd only been talking for a matter of minutes, but Merlin had made it clear that he had no patience for social faux-pas back on the platform; Arthur should have been prepared for the call-out. Instead of regaining his composure, however, Arthur heard himself reply:

"I was not."

Merlin rolled his eyes and set is cup down. "You _were,"_ he shifted a little in his seat, trying to untangle himself from his hoodie. His pathetic brown jacket had been discarded on the bench beside him; Arthur had done the same with his coat.

"How many layers are you wearing, exactly?" Arthur asked, changing the subject.

"Just three," Merlin grunted, tugging the blue garment over his head and depositing it next to him. "We can't all have big, warm coats."

 _But boy, do I wish I did._ Merlin eyed Arthur's coat enviously. It looked to be made of some kind of felted wool, thick and warm. Merlin'd had a coat like that once, in his first year of university, but it had gotten stolen in the first month and he'd never gotten around to buying a new one. He suspected his greasy roommate, Cedric, had taken it, but he didn't have any evidence other than his wildly accurate hunches. Perhaps if the university accepted one of his sleeve-tricks, like magic glowing balls, as recording devices, he'd have gotten it back. But no, they didn't believe in such things, and Merlin was not one to shatter their fragile grip on what existed and what didn't. He had nightmares of being locked away in a lab somewhere, surrounded by confused scientists who'd never heard of anybody doing what Merlin could do. Not that Merlin had ever heard of anybody, either. But that was all besides the point-

"Merlin?" Arthur sounded more than a little concerned, and Merlin blinked, realizing his name had probably been called more than once at this point.

"Yes?"

"Are you alright? You were just…" Arthur waved his hand in front of both of them, "...zoning."

Merlin smiled, maybe a bit too widely. "I'm fine. Just thought of something."

A snort. "Maybe the espresso's going to your head."

Merlin shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe you're just a boring coffee partner."

"You invited me, remember? I didn't ask."

"Well I wasn't going to just…" Merlin gestured vaguely out the window, "leave you on a bench in a snowstorm. If you died I'd be the one under investigation."

"Right." Arthur was smirking now.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. It means you're right."

Merlin bit the inside of his cheek. He had to admit that this wasn't the worst winter break situation he'd ever had, but it was definitely the strangest.


	3. Chapter 3: Jests and Jam

**Hello!  
Back with another installment. I LOVED reading your review suggestions. I'm taking some of them into account for this story in the future, too!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **~Ra1n**

* * *

 **Previously...**

"Well I wasn't going to just…" Merlin gestured vaguely out the window, "leave you on a bench in a snowstorm. If you died I'd be the one under investigation."

"Right."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. It means you're right."

Merlin bit the inside of his cheek. This wasn't the worst winter break situation he'd ever had, but it was definitely the strangest.

* * *

"Your food?"

Merlin's neck cracked as his head whipped around to face the new voice. One of the baristas, a young, dark-haired man, was standing at the end of the table, two plates holding a grilled blueberry muffin and a buttery croissant in his hands. Merlin had forgotten they'd even ordered food.

"Yes!" Arthur patted the table, a polite smile on his lips. "Blueberry muffin right here."

The young man handed the plate to each of the men, murmured, "enjoy," and walked away.

Arthur dunked a chunk of his muffin into his coffee. Merlin wrinkled his nose at the action.

"What?" Arthur asked, "What's the look for?"

"Crumbs," Merlin tore a piece off of his croissant and chewed it slowly. Arthur scoffed.

"Don't yuck my yum, Merlin," he took a bite of the soggy pastry. "I can eat my food however I want to."

Merlin swallowed. "And I reserve the right to judge you."

"Now who's being rude?"

"I thought I already _was_ rude."

"It just got worse, then."

Merlin took another bite of his croissant. Silence fell as they both chewed. Merlin finished a few more bites before clearing his throat.

"I should have gotten jam."

"You could ask for it," Arthur's voice was muffled by muffin. "It's not as if it's busy right now."

They both looked around the empty shop. Two baristas were staring at the snow outside, the counter and floor already cleaned meticulously. Merlin and Arthur both sniggered.

"I don't want to be any trouble," Merlin said. Arthur gave him a long look.

"Please. She's probably _dying_ for something to do."

Merlin rolled his eyes, but he knew Arthur was right. Begrudgingly, he got up to ask for jam. Arthur watched him go.

He was a strange man, Arthur thought. Probably one of the stranger people he'd encountered in his life. He watched Merlin lean against the counter, his faded brown t-shirt wrinkling around his slender torso, long fingers gesturing towards the particular type of jam he wanted. He seemed to be babbling, the pretty blonde barista blushing and leaning against the other side of the counter instead of retrieving the jar of jam.

Arthur rolled his eyes. It looked like Merlin was quite the flirt- he wondered if he was trying to sweet-talk the poor girl into giving him free jam, or if they actually knew each other. He didn't have to wait long to find out. Merlin returned a minute later, grinning and depositing a dish of orange marmalade onto the table.

"Let me guess," Arthur said, "you got the jam and her number for free."

Merlin frowned. "What?" He looked back at the barista and blushed. "Oh! No, no. That's just Forridel."

"Mm-hmm…" Arthur raised an eyebrow.

Merlin shook his head. "No, honestly, we're just friends. She's in my fifteenth-century literature class. We've done a few projects together."

Arthur crossed his arms. "Then why are you blushing?"

Merlin patted his cheeks. "It just...happens." He glared. "I know pretty much everybody who works here, Arthur. It's only a quarter mile from campus. It's all run by uni students."

"Right," Arthur said. "Whatever you say. Why didn't you chat up the man who delivered our food?"

Merlin scowled. "That was George. I don't much like George."

Arthur just smirked.

"I'm telling the truth!" Merlin insisted

"Of course you are." Honestly, Arthur was just enjoying flustered-Merlin.

Merlin sat down and began to spread the marmalade onto his croissant. "Fine. Don't believe me." He took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. "She has a boyfriend, anyway."

Arthur dropped the subject. He really did believe him, but the blush that had taken up residence on Merlin's cheeks was far too amusing. Merlin muttered something rude under his breath. Arthur let him calm down for a few moments before starting up the conversation again.

"So, where'd you say you were headed, again?"

Arthur could practically _feel_ the faux-spite as Merlin purposely took a bit of his meal, then another, and another. He chewed them slowly and deliberately, avoiding eye contact with Arthur until he finished the entire first half of his croissant. By that point, Merlin had also gotten over the entire conversation, so he wiped his mouth with a napkin and said, "My mum's. She lives across the country." He sighed. "It was already going to be an overnight trip, but now it might be even longer."

"Same," Arthur interrupted. "I've already paid for an overnight carriage."

"Oh?" Merlin asked, "Where are you headed?"

Arthur groaned. "My sister and I are getting together at my father's house." He said, then rolled his eyes. " _Without_ my father."

Merlin hummed, taking a sip of espresso. He paused with the mug to his lips.

"Why bother, then? Why not meet at one of your own flats?"

"Well first of all, we'd never agree on would do the traveling and who would do the hosting. And secondly, it's _tradition,_ Merlin. We meet at my father's house every year. He'd have a fit."

"Ahh," Merlin cocked an eyebrow, "but he doesn't need to know, now does he?"

Arthur barked out a laugh. "You're a devious little bastard, aren't you?" Merlin just grinned in response, the blush returning as a slight pink.

"I got free marmalade, didn't I?"

Arthur leaned back. "Fair enough." He paused, then slammed his palms against the table. "Well? Go on then, tell me: how would _you_ avoid incurring my father's wrath?"

"Me?" Merlin hummed, strumming his fingers against the table. "I'm not sure. Does he have cameras in his house? Any security on the property?"

The question earned him a suspicious look.

"What, are you going to rob the place if I tell you?"

"That depends. Is there anything worth stealing?"

"Merlin…"

"What? I'm only joking! Of course I won't. I don't even know where your father's place is, aside from being a very long train ride from here."

Arthur kept his narrowed eyes on him for a moment longer, then folded. "Fine, O devious one. Let's say there are cameras, but only the main entrances and driveway are on. Now what?"

"Does he check the cameras?"

"Well of course he checks the cameras!"

Merlin held his palms up. "Hey, I'm just trying to help." He lowered his hands before continuing. "I'd take two cars there, but park one up the street. Then you could both drive one car in, park it there, then leave on foot through a side-entrance or something. Then you could find the other car, and go do whatever it is you _actually_ want to do on your holiday."

A large gob of nearly-forgotten melted snow sloughed off of Merlin's bangs and into his cup at that exact moment, splattering his remaining espresso across the table and effectively cutting Arthur's response off short. Merlin cursed, wiping his fingers on his jeans.

"Karma, Merlin. It's already catching up to us."

"Speak for yourself! I have a lovely holiday planned."

"Yes, and instead of that holiday, you're going to be snowed in at a coffee shop."

Merlin actually _pouted,_ like a _child._ "The train's _going_ to come. They haven't cancelled it yet."

Arthur tapped the side of his nose. "Keyword, Merlin: _yet."_

The dark-haired man glanced out the window. The snow had piled up on the windowbox, ten inches or so, giving the appearance that they'd already been buried in snow.

"My mum will be beside herself if I miss her party," he murmured. He looked at Arthur. "But hey, at least Freya and Will'll be there to keep her company."

Arthur smirked. "Cousins?"

Merlin took the last sip of his espresso. "Friends," he swallowed. "Or, in in Freya's case, ex."

Arthur winced. "Ouch."

"Not really." He set the mug down. "She left for university a year early, special program."

"For English?"

"Large-Animal Veterinary care." Merlin shrugged. "I was pretty upset about it at the time, but honestly it was the best thing for her."

"...and now she attends Christmas parties with your mother…?"

"...And now she attends Christmas parties with my mother, yes. Mum adores both of them. Knitted us matching sweaters one year- all three of us."

"Dear Lord."

"Nah, it was nice. We were in that ironic phase of secondary school, and Freya and I hadn't started dating yet. We thought we were cool."

Arthur finished his muffin, then drained the remaining dregs of his coffee. "Christ, Merlin. I feel embarrassed for you. Thank you lord we didn't attend the same school. I'd have probably hung you from the flagpole by your boxers."

"Ah," Merlin said, also finishing his food and drink, "So you were a bully. Hardly surprising, if your conduct in public stations is anything to go by." He knew he was joking, but Arthur felt called out anyway.

"I wasn't a bully, really. Just obnoxious."

Merlin shrugged. "We were all obnoxious."

"True." Arthur checked his watch. "We should probably head back now. It's seven-twenty-eight. The train'll be here soon... If we're lucky."

Merlin looked at the clock hanging above the counter. "You're probably right."

"Do you not have a watch?" Arthur asked. He got a lovely view of Merlin's bare wrists an inch from his face in response.

"Nope. I usually just use my mobile phone." He tugged a battered-looking cell out of pocket. "But it's shit in the cold. Shut down before I even got all the way to the station."

Arthur nodded, pulling his own phone out of his pocket. "I just forgot to charge mine."

Merlin laughed. "We're in a right mess, aren't we?"

"I suppose so."

That being said, Merlin _did_ get Arthur's muffin comped for him when they went up to pay, so he figured the mess wasn't _too_ bad.


	4. Chapter 4: Couchettes and Cramped Spaces

**Hello!**

 **Please enjoy this next chapter!**

 **~Rain**

* * *

 **Previously...**

Merlin laughed. "We're in a right mess, aren't we?"

"I suppose so."

That being said, Merlin _did_ get Arthur's muffin comped for him when they went up to pay, so he figured the mess wasn't _too_ bad.

* * *

"I think the next time I see this bench, it'll be on an x-ray," Merlin muttered, his voice wavering with cold. He suspected he'd gotten a little help from his magic in order to get through the entire coffee shop interaction with little interruption, but now the snow had brought his flu roaring back, and he found himself shivering, feverish sweat dripping from his brow. He pulled off his hat, letting the frigid air ruffle his damp hair. Too hot. Too cold. Whatever respite he'd found in the coffee shop was gone now.

"Why's that?' Arthur asked, also shaking.

"Because I think it's frozen to the seat of my jeans." He shifted a little, as if testing his range of motion, then huffed, "Well, not yet. But by the time this bloody train gets here, it will be."

Arthur let a breath out of his nose in agreement, then checked his watch.

"It's seven-forty," he said, "the train should be here in five minutes."

Merlin snorted. "We can only hope."

The walk back to the station had been even more difficult than the walk there, mostly because leaving the warmth of the cafe seemed like one of the worst ideas Merlin had ever had. And he'd had plenty of them over the course of his life, like giving Will a key to his flat when they were ten, or leaving secret-admirer notes in Freya's locker back when he'd convinced himself he was in love.

Or, you know, choosing a train that seemed to be destined to never arrive.

Plus, the snow had changed from icy chips to wet, fluffy flakes, which was prettier, Merlin had to admit, but also soaked through his hat and scarf far more quickly. _At least the station had a roof._

In front of them, a couple of disgruntled workers had materialized, pushing snow shovels through the rapidly-accumulating snow in an attempt to clear the tracks. Merlin wondered how the train was going to actually get to the station itself, as the tracks extending in either direction were still covered. Perhaps they could attach snow plows to the front of the train, and have it push its way through the snow? He was pretty sure that was a thing. Not that he knew that much about trains.

"Two minutes," Arthur muttered next to him. The workers had disappeared again, the tracks half-shoveled. Merlin hoped that they'd left because they didn't want to get hit by the train that was _surely_ arriving very soon.

"You're negativity is going to scare the train away," Merlin said, then coughed. Arthur rolled his eyes, only replying with:

"One minute."

They both looked down the tracks. The visibility was low, but they should have been able to see the light on the front car, or maybe even hear the screech of the metal over the wind.

"And...time." Arthur winced. "I guess it's not coming."

Merlin stood up. _It has to come, though._ He didn't have anywhere to stay; the university had closed the housing and the coffee shop was surely closed by now, or at least about to be. He couldn't bear the thought of spending an entire night on a station bench, and besides all of that, he could _feel_ the train. Or rather, he was usually good at trusting his instincts, and his instincts were _not_ pointing at a station bench and saying _get comfortable._

"Why're you still looking? It's obviously not coming tonight," Arthur was saying behind him. "Look, even the workers have gone home. Give it a rest."

Merlin shook his head, still looking down the tracks. "It's coming."

Arthur laughed. "I think your cold has finally gotten to your head." He was packing up, slinging his bag over his shoulder, brushing the snow from his clothes.

"I'm telling you, Arthur. The train's coming."

"Fine, alright. The train's coming. But I am certainly not going to spend the night in a station, waiting for it. And I'd recommend that you do the sa-"

A whistle blew in the distance, cutting Arthur off. Merlin turned to look at him.

"Oh, shut up," he said, but Merlin's smug grin stayed in place.

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to," Arthur muttered, adjusting the heavy bag on his shoulder.

It was within the next thirty seconds that the shriek of metal filled the station, followed by the hiss of brakes. The train was pushing its way towards the platform, a great wave of snow thrust before it (Merlin had been right, train-plows _were_ a thing). It was approaching the station far more slowly than Merlin had ever seen, but still, it was _here_ which meant he could _get on it_ and finally be _warm._

Arthur let out a relieved sigh, then shot a glare at Merlin, who, as expected, had given him another "told-you-so," look.

"Just, get on the train," Arthur spat as the locomotive came to a halt in front of them. Merlin was beyond happy to oblige, grabbing up his bag and striding towards the ticket inspector, who had stepped onto the platform in a bit of a daze.

The ticket Merlin pulled from his pocket was, unsurprisingly, sopping wet and crumpled nearly beyond recognition. He did his best to both smooth out the ticket and suppress the cough he felt in his throat as he placed it in her hands. The inspector gave him an incredulous look, but finally rolled her eyes and motioned for him to board. Arthur followed.

"You're the only people we've picked up since five stops over," she said, before checking that everybody was on board and sliding the door closed.

"We're just desperate," Merlin said dramatically, and Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Why was the train so late?" he interjected, because obviously Merlin was useless in getting information, or perhaps lacked the brain cells required to be curious. "It doesn't seem to have trouble moving in the snow."

The inspector motioned for them to follow her to the next car, speaking over her shoulder:

"If the train moves too quickly, it compounds the snow into ice and trips up the signals. Anyway, this is where you'll be staying," they'd come to a stop in the hallway of a sleeping car, right outside of a small bedroom.

Arthur looked at the small doorway, then at his ticket. "Is this my car? On my ticket it says-"

"Oh, we're ignoring the ticket assignments," the inspector interrupted, "there are so few passengers, we're just heating the first few cars." She gave them a quick smile. "Have a nice trip!"

Arthur felt himself scowling at the woman's false cheer as she slipped out of the car and closed the door behind her, effectively shutting them both up and sentencing them to their fate.

"Can you believe her?" Arthur turned towards Merlin, who was also frowning in her direction.

"A bit dismissive, wasn't she?" Merlin sighed. "I guess it doesn't matter. At least it's not bloody freezing in here." He pushed the door to the room open. He was already shucking off his layers, tossing them on a bench seat. It was a no-frills couchette. There were two bench seats facing one another on one end. On the opposite end, two bunked beds jutted from each wall. The beds formed a narrow aisle between them- If Merlin sat on the edge of the lower one, and Arthur on the other, Merlin was sure their knees would touch. A curtain could be pulled along the side of each bed for privacy. He smoothed the sheets on one of the lower beds and deposited his bag on it, then paused. "Sorry, do you care where you sleep?"

Arthur huffed. He'd paid for a luxury car, but apparently one of the hard plastic beds, in a car with a sniffling, sneezing idiot, would have to do instead. He was _fully_ expecting a refund.

Angrily, Arthur squeezed himself past his apparently-permanent travel-buddy to put his own stuff on the bed parallel to Merlin's. Then he thought better of it- there was no way in _hell_ he'd sleep on the top bunk if Merlin was going to also be up there- they'd end up lying virtually side-by-side, with barely two feet of air between them, and that sounded like the _perfect_ way to get sick. Sighing, he lifted his stuff up onto the top bunk and began making the lower bed.

Merlin, on the other hand, was pretty happy with the accomodations. It looked like it was just the two of them in the car, and Merlin had been fully expecting his cheap reservation to be a crowded room with three-to-five other grumpy, snoring people. One rich businessman was far more preferable. He just hoped Arthur didn't snore.

After a few minutes of bed-making, and awkward shoulder-and-back bumping, and one time where Merlin kneed Arthur in the back of the head ("I'm sorry! I'm just trying to get up into the bed!"), the two men finally had their things in (rough) order. The bench seats had cubbies beneath them, as Merlin discovered, and to Merlin's surprise, Arthur was a more disorganized packer than he looked, and ended up just dumping his belongings into the storage space.

By the time they were done packing, the lights of the station were long gone. The window at the head of their beds showed a uniform grey, and even pressed against the glass with his hands cupped around his eyes, Merlin couldn't see anything but the snow zooming past them.

"How fast do you think we're going?" he said aloud. Arthur, who was lying in his bunk with his arm thrown over his face, made a noncommittal sound in response, and Merlin took that to mean he was trying to sleep.

 _Well, so much for conversation,_ Merlin thought, but then decided that it had been a draining day, and he couldn't blame Arthur for being tired. That didn't help Merlin with his own restlessness, however, and his limbs were starting to get jittery from the caffeine he had consumed. Trying to move as quietly as possible, Merlin unlocked the door and slipped into the hallway, intent on finding the dining car, or a snack of some sort, or at _least_ a bottle of water to soothe his trembling muscles and aching head.

Behind him, to Merlin's dismay, Arthur had started snoring.

* * *

 **Ooh, what's going to happen now that Arthur and Merlin are on the train? Merlin has set out on an adventure without Arthur by his side!**


End file.
